


In a Little Bit of Trouble (And I'm In Real Deep)

by formalizing



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, Criminal Jared, FBI Agent Jensen, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Rough Sex, Way too much fluff for a mob AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2011-07-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 23:57:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5435609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formalizing/pseuds/formalizing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>blindfold_spn request: (truncated) “Big, bad mob boss!Jared knows that his shy accountant and lover is actually an FBI agent. ...Would love a happy ending, minimal angst, focus on Jared thinking Jensen's little attempts at subterfuge are actually kind of cute.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Little Bit of Trouble (And I'm In Real Deep)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://blindfold-spn.livejournal.com/4508.html?thread=5745820#t5745820).  
> Title from Caro Emerald’s “That Man” ([YouTube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CFA6dEwWOb4))

If he’d found out earlier, Jared would’ve taken care of it. He _knows_ he would’ve, because he’s young, for a boss, and he has to use a firmer hand than most to keep his spot on top. Respect is earned, and Jared’s not picky, he’ll take fear, too.

So if someone had told him when he hired him that Jensen was an FBI agent, he’d have disposed of him fast and messy, sent the message to the feds that he wasn’t the easy prey everyone thought. But nobody even suspected. He was just some guy, a cousin of somebody’s cousin, quiet and good with the books. Besides, it was an entry-level position; the office equivalent of the mail room, the prison equivalent of bitch. Jensen didn’t touch anything the FBI would be interested in, and Jared didn’t even catch sight of him until a couple of months after they brought him on, when he just happened to find evidence of one of the lower-levels skimming a bit on the side.

Jensen just kept proving his usefulness after that, and Jared didn’t think anything of it beyond the fact that, with each step Jensen took up the ladder, Jared got to spend more and more time with him.

Jensen finally winds up too high on the food chain to continue working at the front offices Jared keeps for the legitimate business, and it’s not long after that until he becomes indispensible enough that he travels with the rest of Jared’s core group, managing the entire white collar aspect of Jared’s operation. It’s Jensen that brings him the stack of end-of-day paperwork that needs his signature, and it’s Jensen that gives him the numbers at the end of each month, lets him know, in plain English, what’s making money and who’s past due on what.

He’s smart, funny, and sexy as hell with his wicked little smirk as he calls Jared “Mr. Padalecki” in public. It’s really only a matter of time before Jared fucks him.

And it continues that way for months: Jensen cooks the books just the way Jared likes all day, then Jared brings him home and fucks him until they’re both sweaty, exhausted, and satisfied. It’s barely a month before Jensen starts staying the night, newest victim of Jared’s wandering, cuddling arms. Sometimes Jensen sends Jared’s chef home and cooks dinner himself, huge bowls of pasta that they eat in front of the TV, pressed together from hip to ankle on a couch that could easily fit five of them. Their laundry gets all mixed up together each Sunday, and Jensen’s high-tech coffeemaker and stupidly expensive coffee find positions of prominence on the kitchen counters. They’re living together as much as is possible while Jensen still has an apartment that he’s paying rent on.

He’s known Jensen for more than a year, all told, when Chad drops the dossier in his lap.

Right on top is a copy of a personnel file, “Federal Bureau of Investigation” in tall letters across the top and Jensen’s unsmiling face staring back at him from the black and white headshot. The candidate record has most of the identifying information blacked out, marked as “reassigned” after just a few weeks in the 20-week agent training program at Quantico, no reason given, file buried in the archives. It’s standard procedure when they pull a candidate for special assignment, when they need him to have a clear history and no known associations but the ones they give him.

There’s more under that—cell phone records, documents in his handwriting, even photos of Jensen with a redheaded woman that must be his handler, sipping at his coffee as they chat and pass a few pieces of paper between their hands under the table. When Jared looks a bit more closely at that one, Jensen’s wearing one of Jared’s own ties.

“We got a tip from one of the higher-ups on our payroll, and I followed up with it,” Chad says. Jared can appreciate that he didn’t bring it to him until he had more than a hunch on this one. “Sorry, Jay-man. I can take care of it for you, if you want.”

Jared thinks about it for all of a minute, staring down at Jensen giving away his secrets even as he’s wearing Jared’s clothes, obviously spent the night before in his bed.

“No,” he says eventually. “I’ll handle it.”

And he means to, really he does. He goes home and throws Jensen’s stupid fucking coffeemaker through the kitchen window, tears all his clothes off the hangers and throws them out into the hall, stares at the neatly-made bed and contemplates all the ways he could _destroy_ the stranger he’d so unwittingly slept next to. He has all the best intentions of doing just that.

But Jensen’s out all day for “business”—Jared’s not sure anymore if he means Jared’s business or Jensen’s own—and by the time he comes home the housekeeping staff have tidied up the mess Jared made of the bedroom, the chef has quietly had the kitchen window boarded up and called for a next-day repair, and Jared has had all afternoon to himself with just his thoughts and the contents of his liquor cabinet.

Before Jensen can open his mouth to ask, Jared is kissing him hard and violent, dragging him up the stairs. He fucks him rough enough to leave bruises and bite marks all over, presses him facedown into the bed with two hands on his shoulders as he pounds into him with all the force of the frustration and betrayal itching red hot under his skin.

Jensen falls asleep curled up in his arms after. He’s undoubtedly sore and aching all over, but he still trusts Jared enough to make himself that vulnerable.

Jared tells him there was an accident with the coffeemaker when he asks about it in the morning, and that’s that.

The look Chad gives him when Jensen is still alive and well at his side the next day is not terribly pleased. Of course, Chad’s his right-hand and basically his head of security—his prime concern is keeping Jared alive and out of jail, and knowingly sharing a bed with an FBI agent isn’t good for Jared’s chances of either.

“Explain to me how _this_ is handling it?”

“I’m not moving forward on this until I’m sure, Chad. I want more proof than a few pictures and an old FBI file—give me names, dates, what was said. I’ll do my job when I’m satisfied that you’ve done yours.”

Chad stares, mouth agape.

“Look, boss, I know you’re having fun with the guy, but this is a serious breach. He touches enough evidence every day to put you away for life on fraud _alone_.” He rests a consoling hand on Jared’s shoulder. “You gotta listen to the big head on this one, man. Even if his ass is the sweetest piece out there, it’s not worth prison time.”

Chad’s lucky he’s also Jared’s best friend, or Jared would break every bone in that hand.

As it is, he twists it just until he hears the wrist pop and Chad curses and jumps back, clutching at it.

“I’m not asking for much,” Jared continues, ignoring the reproachful glare Chad’s sending him as he twists his wrist experimentally. It’s not even broken, the big baby. “You said it yourself: Jensen’s practically _swimming_ in opportunities, here. Show me how he’s using them.”

Chad sighs, put-upon, but gives in. 

“Fine, whatever, I’ll find out exactly what Jenny’s been up to. But then I’m putting a bullet in his brain,” he grumbles, still rubbing at his wrist. “And I won’t even feel bad when you cry about it, douchebag.”

If Jensen wonders why he’s suddenly relegated to balancing Jared’s bank accounts—only the legal ones that are actually in his own name and don’t see more than $10,000 between them over the course of a month—he doesn’t mention it. He does, however, subtly suggest that Jared’s got just enough in one of them to replace his precious coffeemaker.

Jared does, too. Traitor or no, making sure Jensen gets his fix in the morning is its own reward. He’s _really_ good at showing his gratitude and Jared may not have all that long left to enjoy it.

Things continue almost as normal. Jared’s accounts are all squeaky-clean soon enough, and he sets Jensen on more busywork like clearing out his e-mail, reorganizing his filing system, and updating his Christmas card list. Jensen’s still got a lot of free time every day, though, so they find all sorts of new and interesting ways to fill it. Most of them involve Jensen riding him in his chair, or blowing him while he’s on the phone, or even spread out on Jared’s desk with his hands knotted up in his tie above his head and his legs wrapped tight around Jared’s waist.

Chad walks in on that last one, and promptly walks right back out.

“How about a compromise?” he suggests later, like he’s doing Jared a favor. “We don’t kill him and you can keep him for yourself in one of the whorehouses. We’d only have to drug him a little bit, and he obviously likes being tied up anyway.”

Jared would actually break his wrist this time, but the fact that he’s even suggesting an option where Jensen doesn’t end up in tiny pieces in the river means that he’s not getting anywhere with his digging. Jared feels oddly smug about that.

Jensen starts to look a little haggard around week three, dark circles forming under his eyes and stubble coming out on his jaw because he just doesn’t remember to shave it. Jared’s got no doubts what that’s about—utilizing an undercover agent is only worth the risk when he’s churning out information. If Jensen hasn’t seen anything worth reporting in weeks, there’ll be talk of re-evaluating his position, of whether or not he’s compromised.

But Jensen still doesn’t push for it. He continues on with his work as a glorified receptionist and doesn’t ask for information beyond what Jared wants for lunch.

Chad doesn’t deliver until an entire month has passed, and the file he walks in holding is pitifully small. The look on his face says he knows it.

“This doesn’t mean he hasn’t done shit that I _couldn’t_ find,” he mutters as he tosses it on the desk.

The first page is a copy of a report, an early one judging by the date. There’s some general information on the workings of the company Jensen started in, a few dates for some low-level exchanges. There isn’t anything on Jared specifically until a few pages later, and then he’s just written in like an after-thought, tidy point-form describing him as “Personable and well-respected by associates. Tall.”

The next report of note doesn’t even have anything to do with Jared, but lays out enough dirt and details on Jeff Morgan’s dealings for the successful sting operation Jared knows they pulled off back when Jensen was just settling into the more dubious side of things. Morgan was one of the older bosses, determined to knock Jared down as he was still getting his legs under him. Jared remembers losing sleep over that until the FBI arrested dozens of Morgan’s men and froze or seized enough of his assets that he had to go on the defensive. After that, he was too busy covering his own ass and getting his name dragged through the media to even bother with Jared.

It’s all the same, all the way through—calls made too late, reports that are too vague, and information well below his pay grade. Jensen’s been feeding the FBI just enough to keep them convinced of his usefulness, but never enough to produce the kind of results he could be getting. He actually managed to compromise a fellow agent’s position so badly that the guy had to be extracted, leaving Jensen the FBI’s only hook in Jared’s business. There’s even mention made of a disciplinary hearing when Jensen failed to report the “developments” in his relationship with Jared.

Jensen is a fucking _terrible_ FBI agent.

Jared must be smiling, because Chad’s scowling across at him as he says, “You’re not going to let me kill him, are you?”

Jared just laughs, long and loud.

Jensen’s sprawled out on the couch and half-asleep when Jared gets home. He hums contentedly as Jared kisses him awake.

“It’s way past last call for sex,” he murmurs. Jared doesn’t know how he’s been getting away with all this double-agent crap if that’s how well he lies.

“Gotta get it while I can,” Jared says, working a hand up the back of the too-loose t-shirt he thinks he recognizes as one of his own, up the bumps of Jensen’s spine. “You’re going to do some actual _work_ tomorrow, slacker.”

Jensen perks up a bit at that, opening his bleary eyes.

“Yeah?”

Jared nods, slides his hand back down and around to rest on Jensen’s stomach.

“Yeah. Much as I’ve enjoyed your talented _services_ , the books need you more. Misha can’t tell me if I’ve made a dime all week.”

Jensen groans.

“ _Collins_ , really?” Jared nods and Jensen glares. “It’s a miracle you’re not destitute right now. You know that, right?”

“I have the utmost confidence in your ability to save me from the poorhouse.”

Jensen’s lips twitch at that.

“It’s a totally selfish effort; you pay my bills.”

“What if there was one less bill to pay?”

Jensen pulls back a bit to study his face curiously.

“I think you should get rid of your apartment,” Jared clarifies, and Jensen’s eyes go wide. “It wouldn’t be a big adjustment—I mean, when was the last time you were there longer than it took to pick something up? You’re here pretty much full-time already.”

“Still, I…” Jensen trails off a bit, bites his lower lip. “I have responsibilities there, Jared. The… apartment’s got a long lease.”

“Fuck the lease.”

Jensen laughs bitterly.

“Not sure my landlord would appreciate that.”

“Fuck him, too,” Jared growls. “Tell him your boyfriend wants to keep you close, and he's going to make things _unpleasant_ if anyone gets in the way of that.”

Jensen gives him another of those considering glances.

“You’re serious about this.”

Jared shrugs.

“S’totally selfish,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Your coffee’s better than mine.”

Jensen laughs, but still looks a bit unsure, tense around the eyes.

“It’ll take a while to pack the place up,” he offers, and Jared figures that’s as close to a “yes” as he’s going to get for now.

He lets Jensen lead the way to bed, and it’s close enough.


End file.
